Send Me Your Prayer, I'll Be There
by AbbyTheBlue
Summary: Dean had forgotten completely about the box. He had never thought to consider that the way he could write a message, put it in, and get a response was actually magic, not for years. And he certainly never stopped to think that his imaginary friend Castiel was real. A Destiel fic. (Profile Image not mine)
1. Chapter 1

When Dean was young, he had spent a short time in a little home in Montana. It was the most boring, unextraordinary home there's ever been, or so it felt, and Dad was hunting most of the time anyway.

So Dean, and his 3 year old brother, Sam, would go out exploring. They would go out in the bushes and get poison ivy and dig holes in the ground, practicing their grave-digging skills (which their father fully approved of). Dean kept a watchful eye on little Sammy, but he was fairly lenient and went off on his own a few times. He looked up from the hole he was pointlessly digging for a moment. All he heard was a gust of wind, but it somehow sounded like more than that. Like… whispering. It wasn't some horror-story shit like his name, or anything, but it sounded like logical speaking. Like… some sort of ancient language. And not only that, it didn't sound like it was coming from everywhere like most wind, it was coming from a grove in the forest beyond the yard.

Dean followed the whispers into the forest, not even contemplating the ideas. He glanced at Sam (who seemed to be trying to either play with or eat some sort of bug on the ground, hopefully the former) and figured he was fine, as he stepped into the forest.

It was so dense, even the air seemed to be the same color as the green canopy around him. No wind should have gotten through, but still, he heard and felt the whispers across his neck. Tripping over roots and vines, he kept walking.

Finally coming through a tight pair of trees and nearly falling over, Dean stopped. He had come to a little, circular patch of grass, with trees surrounding it so perfectly it didn't look natural. Right in the center was a little box.

Dean walked up to it, and picked it up, the whispers stopping abruptly. He turned it over in his hand, examining its form. It was made of wood, and beautifully crafted in gentle, swirling, almost angelic designs. It was covered in a language he was not only unable to read, but unable to recognize. He opened it. Empty.

Dean didn't tell Sam about the box he had found. Or his father. For about a week, the box stayed under his bed in the room he actually got to use alone. Finally, he figured such a box he kept secret could serve a purpose.

He would never admit that he wrote a diary. But he didn't tell anyone anything, and to get it down on paper was somehow comforting. When he was sure Sam was sleeping and dad was gone, he would write what he was thinking about and put it in the box. It was midnight, one week after the box he wrote his first 'entry', per se.

 _I found a box_ , the first entry was titled, brief and to the point. _I found a box today. It's little and made of wood and has letters from a different language on it. I didn't show dad. I don't think he'd care anyway. Stupid jerkface is too busy hunting stupid vampires. And Sammy can't read, so I'm not too worried. The school here is awful. Everybody thinks I'm weird because I can't tell them about my life because that would make me even more weird. I hate them too._

 _PS. this doesn't count as a diary cause diaries are for girls._

This is, of course, without the infinite spelling errors making it nearly indecipherable. As soon as he finished, he folded it up, put it in the box, put the box under his pillow, and went to sleep.

He intended to use it again tomorrow, at about the same time, and he followed through. Same as last night, he woke up at midnight, checked to make sure Sam was asleep and that dad was gone, then got out a piece of paper and a pencil. He took his box and opened it up for when he put in the message.

Just before he was about to start writing, he stopped. The paper in the box didn't look the same. The stuff he used was yellowish with lines on it, but this was clean, and an almost glowing white. He picked it up curiously. It felt warm, like it had just come out of the printer.

Unfolding it, he found it wasn't his note. It wasn't even close. In fact, as he read it over, he found it was a response.

 _I'm sorry your father isn't interested in what you've found, even though it is a rather remarkable thing to find._ It said in classy, neat writing. _And school will probably get better. You just need to get used to it. And this clearly isn't a diary, it's a journal, which is much more masculine sounding._

Dean creased his eyebrows reading. He went out into the kitchen, taking some holy water from the fridge, and sprinkling a couple dabs onto the paper. All it did was make it wet. Finally, he figured he'd communicate.

 _Who are you, how did you get my box?_ he wrote. He put the message in and shut the box. He put his head on his pillow, ready for a response in the morning.

The first thing he did when he awoke, which was only a few hours after this event, was snatch the box out from under his bed and open it. Nonetheless, another note on shiny white paper sat inside.

 _My name is Castiel,_ it said. _And actually, this is my box. It is labeled with my name._

Dean read the note and put it aside, immediately writing back.

 _Is it a magic box?_ he asked. _Are you a demon?_ The idea of the last question scared him, but he had to ask. He shut his eyes tight, for at least a few minutes, hoping he didn't have to be asleep to talk to the person in the box. Luckily, he was right. Opening it up again, he found his message was already gone.

 _It is a magic box,_ it said. _but I'm not a demon. I'm an angel._

Dean immediately scribbled down a response, then shut his eyes tight again.

 _Does that mean you watch over me? Also, why don't you help?_

The response was there, again, on the same paper.

 _Yes, I've been watching over you for a while now, ever since you found this box. And I'm very sorry, I'm not allowed to interfere._

Again and again, Dean would ask questions: _Says who? Why not?_

And again, Castiel would reply. _It's God's orders, and I don't know why._

The Winchesters stayed in that home for Montana for a year and a half, which is longer than they'd stayed anywhere. The whole time, Dean talked to his imaginary friend Castiel, and they talked about God, and Heaven, and Dean's little life, and all his opinions, Dean asking question after question after question and Castiel happy to provide answer after answer after answer. Finally, it was time for the moving trucks to pull in. Dean's father was calling for him to get packing, and he said he was, but really, he was scribbling away at his letter to put in the box. It was written like this, exactly:

 _It's time to go,_

it was titled. _Dad says it's time to go away from this house forever. We have to pack only what we need, and if he finds this box, he'll throw it away. I can't bring it. Thank you for answering all my questions and being my friend. I'm gonna miss you. I'm sorry I can't take you with me. You're an angel so you probably won't care that I go too much, so it won't make you sad, which is good because I don't want you to be sad. I hope someone else finds the box and you can make a new friend and will be happy. And I'll keep looking for a box all the time and whenever I find one I'm gonna send you a message right away, A-S-A-P!_

Dean tried frantically to wipe the water droplets off his paper before he put it in the box. He sniffed as he shut his eyes for a good ten seconds (which he found was all it actually took) and then opened the box again, to get a response on the warm, glowing white paper.

 _It's alright, Dean. It's very smart of you to leave the box here. I'd rather it wasn't thrown away, as you put it. It was my pleasure answering your questions, and although I am an angel I still do have emotions and I will always recall the time that we were friends with fondness. And I thank you, too, for writing such clever and inquisitive messages to me. Don't cry. Just remember, just because you don't have the box doesn't mean I won't be watching over you._

 _Always._

"Dean! We have to go!" His father's voice came from the yard.

"Coming!" He replied. He wiped his tears, closed the box, and left it just outside the window, resting in a flowerbed of posies.

It had been 23 years since Dean had last seen the box. He had forgotten completely about it really, and at about the age of 12 he was smart enough to figure out it was probably just his imagination or some jerk putting in messages for laughs, either way he hadn't thought about it at all in years.

He and Sam had been hunting for a while now, but they weren't on any cases now. Sam still didn't know about the deal…Dean leaned over the sink, splashing water in his face. His soul was sold for his baby brother's life. Those were the facts. Another relevant fact was that in one year, that sold soul would be dragged down into Hell and he would be tortured forever, basically. He knew Sam never would have approved, but he had to. Without Sam… he didn't know what to do.

"Yo, Dean!" he heard Sam call, stepping into the hotel. He was dripping wet from the harsh rainstorm outside, and thunder crashed as he shut the door behind him. Dean turned around, a fake look of 'everything's fine' springing onto his face. It was a superpower, given to all older siblings, he thought. You could be literally dead and soulless and look absolutely fine as soon as your little sibling walks in, for their sake.

"Yeah!" he called back. He saw Sam walking towards him then stopping, a look of confusion on his face.

"I was just getting some holy water from the impala. I found something in the front seat." Dean stepped up to him, curiously.

"What is it?" He asked.

Slowly, Sam withdrew from his jacket a little wooden box, marked with the same designs as writings as the box from his childhood. His heart sank. A rush of nostalgia passed over him. No way. It couldn't be the same one.

"Oh my God…" He muttered.

"You recognize it?" Sam asked, amazed.

Dean didn't answer, but took it from his hands.

"Hang on, what if it's a curse box!" Sam exclaimed as Dean began to open it.

"It's not a curse box." He said quickly. He took in a breath and opened the box.

Inside was the same, glowing white printer fresh paper he remembered. It smelled like the forest he found the box in. Slowly, he lifted the paper.

 _Dean,_ it said. Even the writing was totally identical.

 _It's high time we talked._

Dean's eyes widened. He looked around him, awed, listening for something more than the rain against the ground outside. "Castiel?" he asked softly. He flinched as thunder crashed, shaking the walls and making the ground quake.

"Who's Castiel?" Sam asked. Dean could hear the wind picking up outside.

"He was my imaginary friend when I was little," He responded, raising up his voice a little. "I found this box when I was young and I used to talk to him…"

"Talk to him?"

"Well, no, I'd write him messages, put them in the box and then get a reply."

"You sure this is the right box?"

Dean looked down at it and shook his head. "One way to find out." He said. He turned to Sam. "You got a pencil, paper?" he asked.

"Ah, yeah." He said. He hurried over to the table, grabbing a pen and tearing a sheet off an old notebook. He handed it to Dean. Dean put the paper against the wall as he wrote a brief message on it.

 _Is it really you, Castiel?_

Nostalgia passed over him like a tidal wave as he put the note in the box. "Shut your eyes," He said to his brother, as he shut his own.

"What?" Sam asked.

"It only works if your eyes are closed." Sam nodded and shut his eyes, waiting for Dean to tell him he could do otherwise. Dean counted ten long seconds. He knew he shouldn't have been, but he was hoping he'd find the clean, white paper inside the box again. His heart racing, he opened the box. "You can open your eyes." Dean said to Sam as he opened his. Sam glanced in the box and his eyes widened upon seeing the clean, white piece of paper that clearly wasn't Dean's.

"What the-" He whispered. Dean didn't hesitate, taking the note out of the box and opening it up.

 _Yes, it's me. It's good to finally talk to you again. I had to send you this prayer box again, there's a matter of grave importance we need to discuss._

"Prayer box?" Sam asked reading over his shoulder. "I've never heard of those."

"You wanna look it up while I put this thing in a devil's trap and do an interrogation?"

Sam crossed his arms. "Why can't you do the research?"

"Hey, the dude knows me." Dean rebutted. Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Reluctantly, he turned and pulled his laptop out of his bag as Dean took the box and went down to the basement. It was a nasty place for a discussion, but he kept it in a devil's trap and ring of salt, just in case it was possessed. For a long time, he sat cross legged in front of the box. Whoever it was, he remembered every detail. It was kinda creepy, but also kinda nice.

 _So, what are you?_ Dean wrote.

 _You mean you don't remember me?_

 _Of course I remember, but I want the truth._

 _I gave you the truth._

 _Those were just stories. You can't expect me to believe you're actually an angel._

 _You did when I told you the first time._

 _I was seven years old._

 _So?_

 _So, I was a stupid little kid._

 _I have to disagree. You may have had a wild imagination, but I'll say you had a phenomenal understanding of morals and the world around you for your age. You were a pleasure to talk to._

 _You mean you actually liked talking to me?_

 _Yes, is that a problem?_

 _No, but you live in heaven. Haven't you got better things to do?_

 _Not really. Heaven is a paradise designed for humans, Dean. For angels, it's just a residence._

 _What, like employees at a theme park?_

 _If you like._

Dean chuckled slightly to himself. To think that the angel still cared about him… him, in particular. It was odd to even think about. He shook his head. No. Not angel. It was probably a demon or something. But he didn't want to think about it. He looked behind him, making sure Sam was focused on his research before writing his next note. He had an idea of what he wanted to talk about.

 _Is this about my soul?_

He shut the box, with dread in his heart.

 _It is._ The reply was brief, but it made his heart sink into his chest. Of course it was, he thought.

 _What about it?_

 _You shouldn't have done that, Dean. I could have helped._

 _And what help could you have possibly provided? My life has been shit even with you "watching over me", and the only reason sold my soul is because my brother was dead. What exactly have you done?_

Dean scribbled the note down furiously, putting the note in the box. He got back a single word response that rather confused him.

 _Rockwell._

Dean creased his eyebrows. The name rung a bell. Slowly, it came to him. He worked a case in Rockwell, California. Something about vampires. He couldn't put his finger on any of the details.

 _What about it?_

 _Sam was off to find the nest in an abandoned warehouse, while you were taking care of other matters. He called back to say that he showed up only to find the vampires dead, with their eyes burned out of their sockets. You looked for something that could do that, but all you could find was angels, which was of course, nonsensical. Finally, you concluded no one was dying and you had cases to work, and you moved on._

Dean read over the note, confused. Every detail was correct, which was a little creepy. He still didn't see how it was relevant.

 _And?_ He prompted.

 _I killed them. I can see into the future, Dean, and those vampires would have taken Sam off guard. This is only one example._

 _And how many times have you done things like that?_

 _Hundreds._

Dean's eyes widened for a moment. He considered thanking him but first he had to ask.

 _Why?_

 _I told you I'd be watching over you._

 _Yes, but why me?_

 _I'm not allowed to care about people?_

Before Dean could write back, Sam called him back into the room. "I think I found something!" He called. Dean faked that same "I'm fine" look and stood up, crinkling up the note in his hand.

"Yeah?" He said, walking out of the dungeon and meeting up with him in the living room.

"Prayer boxes," Sam replied. "They were said to call to people in need with the music of the angels. They are labeled with the angels that answer to them in Enochian, and each angel has only one."

"Come on, man, you think that's the truth? Real angels?"

Sam shrugged. "I honestly don't see why not." He responded.

"Cause it's impossible, Sammy!" Dean responded quickly. "I mean, come on, angels?"

"We fight everything else people think is impossible! Look, why don't we find out? We'll stock up on everything we've got and then we'll ask to meet up with him."

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Sam was right. He reluctantly nodded. "Fine." He said. He stood up and returned to the dungeon, grabbing another scrap of paper on the way.

 _I need to meet you in person._

He wrote. He did the usual, shutting his eyes for ten seconds, but when he opened the box, the same note was there. He cocked his head, confused. He shut his eyes again, waiting the ten seconds, but again, there was the same message he had just written. He looked around him. Was he here? His heart throbbed. No. They weren't ready.

"Castiel?" He asked softly. Suddenly, a sound pierced through the air, a loud ringing in his ears. It rapidly increased to an outstanding volume, piercing Dean's ears. He winced, pressing his hands against his ears. He looked up. Around the corner, something was coming. A bright light blasted into the room.

"Sam!" He cried. Sam, hearing from upstairs, leapt up out of his chair and darted down the stairs. By the time he had made it down, Dean was alone, his back pressed against the stone wall, panting heavily in panic. Whatever was there was gone. Sam ran up to him, and Dean grabbed onto his shirt as though he was thankful he was there. He didn't turn his head.

"Sam!" He gasped. "I can't see!" He turned his head to try and see Sam's awestruck face, but all his vacant eyes saw was blackness. "I can't see!"


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was able to calm him down (he barely remembered how) and ask him what happened. He made sure to keep his arm around him or his hand on his just so he could be sure he was there.

"What the Hell happened?" He asked. Dean shook his head, still staring vacantly into the air.

"I haven't got a clue. Th-there was this sound, like this ringing, and then something came around the corner and…" He didn't really have to elaborate.

Sam sighed, looking away. "Well, I'm sure we'll get you seeing again, there's tons of things you can do."

"There better be," Dean whined. "Aw man, so many racks I never got to see," Sam chuckled.

"Dude, I can't believe you actually-" He stopped. Dean swallowed. The hand on top of his had been lifted, as though Sam had vanished.

"Sam?!" He asked in panic. He felt nothing, but his voice broke out of the darkness.

"Who are you?" He heard Sam say, and the cocking of a gun beside him.

"Sammy, what's happening?!" He asked. His heart pounded in his ears and in his chest, as he pushed himself up further against the wall.

"Don't come any closer!" Sam said. Dean gasped as the gun went off. Twice. Three times. He felt like burying himself in the ground. He hadn't been this afraid in a long time, but it was different without his vision. "Sam, who's here?!"

"The gun's not working!" Sam said, a little concerned as well.

"Wh-what do you mean it's not working?!" He said a little too loud.

"Back off! Don't touch Dean!" Sam's voice came. The gun fired two more times, and Dean pressed up further to the wall. "No!" Sam said.

Dean nearly had a heart attack when he found two cold hands on his face. Oh god, this was the end. Were these the hands of Death? He gasped loudly, waiting for the inevitable. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Open your eyes."

He heard the voice break softly out of the air. But it wasn't Sam's. It was lower. Rougher. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He panted with relief, as colors and shapes formed around him, the clouds washing out of his eyes like dye. His eyes looked around the room, looking for Sam's face, but he saw another, just in front of his.

It was a man with a stern and serious face, and brownish-black hair spiking slightly upward. He smiled softly, seeing Dean was okay. He withdrew only one of his hands from his face, but kept the other affectionately there. "Are you alright?" He asked. "My sincerest apologies, I thought perhaps you would be one of the people with the ability to view my true form."

Dean's guard came back up in an instant. He smacked the man's hand away. He wanted to look brave, but instantly he pressed himself into the corner. "Get the fuck away from me!" He said lowly.

"I'm sorry you probably don't recognize this vessel." He said, looking down slightly. "But it's me."

"Y-you?" Dean questioned carefully. He didn't know what or who this was, so he'd _have_ to be careful.

"Castiel."

Their heads turned as they both heard the cocking of a gun. Sam's face was grave and his lips were pursed. "This gun may not affect you normally but I will shoot you in the head until you don't have a damn mouth to talk with." He threatened. The man looked for a moment, before he leaned back and stood back up. Dean scrambled up, still shaking violently.

"There is no need to threaten." Castiel said gently. But Sam didn't put down the gun. He slowly stood up, fury in his eyes.

"What are you?" He demanded.

"I am an angel."

"No, I mean what are you really?!"

"I… am telling the truth." He said, slightly confused. "You can ask Dean."

"And speaking of which, what the Hell is up with you and Dean?!"

"I am usually happy to answer all of your questions." He said with a soft smile. "But Dean and I really need to talk." he stepped up to Sam, who backed away, but he was cornered against the wall.

"What?!" He demanded. "No!" He fired the gun into his gut three times, but nothing changed. Castiel touched him gingerly on the forehead, and Sam's eyes shut. He crumpled limply against the floor.

"Sam!" Dean called, but he didn't move. He looked up at Cas. "What the Hell did you do to him?!"

"He's alive." Cas responded calmly.

"But is he alright?!"

"He will be, in a few hours." He said. "Anyway, you wanted to see me in person." The trench-coated man spread out his arms for a moment, looking down at himself and then back up at Dean. "Here I am."

For a moment Dean didn't speak. He just backed away against the wall. His body seemed to be fighting itself, his usual confident posture trying to show even though he wanted to curl up into a ball and scream, his angered expression being taken over by a horrified one. He had just been blinded. The salt rounds didn't even slow him down. He had just taken out his moose-brother with a touch to the forehead. So he just looked at the man, shaking violently and trying to look dangerous. Cas smiled tenderly.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Dean," He said. "It's me." Dean didn't answer, afraid to say anything. He knew that Cas could kill him. Well, he didn't know, but he was pretty sure. Cas stepped forward, and Dean used everything within him not to run away. He touched him gently on the face again.

"I'm so glad I finally get to have a face to face with you," He said affectionately. "I quite honestly never thought I would. Watching you grow up was the most fascinating part of my life for a long time."

Dean pushed his hand away, but still didn't speak. A look of hurt passed over Castiel's eyes. "Dean, come on, it's me."

"Don't act like we're friends," He warned softly, trying not to let his voice shake. "You were my _imaginary_ friend when I was _seven_ when _nobody else would be my friend."_ He reminded him steadily. Cas turned his head slightly, looking heartbroken.

"Dean," He objected, trying to step closer.

"G-get the Hell away from me!" He said, stepping back. He snuck out from behind the wall, relieved to get into the open space of the dungeon. He had a clear way to the door. Good.

"Dean, I have been watching over you since I met you," He said, anger growing in his voice.

"And who asked you to do that?" He demanded. "No one!" He interrupted, before Cas could answer. "So why do it, I would have been fine without you! You were my imaginary friend once, now fuck off!"

Cas scowled, fury flickering in his blue eyes. _Damn ingrate,_ he thought. _I never had to care about you. I never even had to answer that first letter._

"I did it because I cared about you." He said softly.

"And who asked you to do _that?!_ Why in Heaven _or_ Hell would you do that?!" He cried. Cas sneered with rage, looking dangerously up at Dean.

"And who exactly… asked you to care about Sam?" He asked slowly. Dean raised his eyebrows, and he didn't speak. He didn't have any answer, but he knew the answer the angel was getting across. He honestly cared about him? And not on an order? No. Impossible.

"Precisely." Castiel said. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to help you regain your soul."

"Why?"

Cas huffed and looked away, clearly trying not to get angry. "Why is it always 'why' with you?! I'm here to help you!"

"Last time I let someone help me without me knowing why, they used me! And the time before that, and the time before that! So why?!"

"I already told you," He said, keeping his voice softer.

"What is it then?"

"I cared about you, Dean."

Dean crossed his arms. "I can't help but notice that switched to past tense." Cas looked away, unable to explain.

"All for the better," Dean replied. "So, can you help me or not?"

"And after all this why would I?" He asked coldly.

"Because apparently you 'care about me'." He scoffed. Cas huffed. He was right, no way would he leave Dean to die. Yet still, even he didn't know the reason.

"I may be able to go into Hell and reclaim it." He said. "But it'll be difficult. I'll have to wait… at least 24 hours before I can do it. So I can regain my power." He explained. He looked up at Dean. "Do you want me to tell Sam?"

"How do you know I haven't-" Dean began.

"Watching over you, remember?" He reminded him. Dean scoffed.

"Still incredibly creepy." He said. "But no, it's gotta be me. I'll wake Sam. He… can be woken, right?" He asked nervously. Cas nodded.

"Of course," He said. Dean shot him a glance, making sure he wasn't moving, before rushing over to his brother Sam. He kneeled down beside him and shook his shoulders. "Sammy!" He said. "Wake up!"

"Mn… what?" Sam mumbled, pulling his eyes open. Dean's face was grave, and that always worried him. "What is it?" He asked worriedly.

"Sam, we…" He looked away. "We have a lot to talk about."

"You sold your soul!" Sam cried as soon as Dean had finished his explanation. He threw his arms in the air and paced furiously back and forth.

"You were dead, Sammy!" Dean stated back.

"Yeah, I know, but now so are you, in a year!" He rebutted.

"Yeah, well, that's where Cas comes in." He responded. "He says he can help."

"Oh, so he's just Cas now?! We've switched to casual names?! He's using us, Dean!"

"And how could you possibly know that?!"  
"Because it happened to us last time, and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before-"  
"Okay, enough, I get it!" Dean said, waving his hands for him to stop. "Look, what other option do we have?"

Sam shook his head, biting his lip. "You could have not lied to me in the first place." He said lowly. He turned, storming off into the other room.

"Sam, come on!" Dean cried after him, but he already shut the door behind him. He was gone. "Dammit!" Dean cried as he kicked the wall. He huffed and turned to see Castiel right beside him.

"What do you want?!" He hissed.

"Nothing." he replied.

"Look, I know you care about me, alright!?" he said angrily. "But I barely know you! I was basically your prayer pen pal 23 years ago, I don't remember!" His voice softened, as he abandoned the point of his speech. "Did anyone else ever-"

"No." Cas said. "One person found it, once, but they soon suspected it was cursed and exorcised then threw it away. I had to pull a lot of strings to get it here." He said.

"You couldn't just have come here yourself?" He asked. Cas shook his head.

"I didn't have a vessel, at the time. I was afraid I would-"

"Blind me?" Cas looked away guiltily, but Dean was smirking softly. He was fine now. It didn't bother him. Cas smiled back.

Dean looked down. "So, why me?"

Cas shrugged. "You found the box."

"But why watch over me and answer for so long afterward?" Cas didn't answer, just looked up at him, as Dean continued. "And why, of all things, would you plummet down into Hell to get back the deed to my damned soul, _literally?!_ "

Cas only looked away, unable to answer. He winced as Dean spoke again, growing more passionate than angry, but they looked like the same thing.

"Well?!" He said.

"I don't know, Dean." He said. "But I don't know what I'd do if you died."

"Well, that's obvious," He replied casually. "You'd move on, go back to whatever you were doing as if nothing ever happened. You're an angel, you have no reason to get hung up over someone like me."

Castiel didn't answer. But when he looked at Dean, he portrayed a message that didn't need any words. _Don't be so sure,_ his pitying eyes said. Then, with a half-second flap of his wings, he was gone, and Dean was left alone.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a tremendously long night and although Dean's mind was exploding with thoughts and worries, the idea of sleep was sounding more and more attractive. So, unable to resist anymore, he figured he'd check in for the night. He figured he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he was pretty much out the second his head hit the pillow.

The next day was spent in seemingly an instant. It was just a day. He worked the case. He did his research, he went into town, he ate meals. He barely remembered any of it, honestly. It was funny, how when something was on your mind other things could just pass you right by like cars on the highway. Sam didn't talk to him. He noticed that.

He wasn't really paying attention to much until Cas arrived. Dean had his nose in a book on vampires and he was sat at the table. It still startled him when he casually glanced up and found the man waiting there just next to him with his stone cold eyes. He jumped, letting the book fall to the table.

"Dammit!" he hissed, "I thought I said not to do that!"

"S-sorry," Castiel responded. He hesitated a moment. "I'm going now."

Dean sat rapidly up, closing the book, which had fallen to a random page. He creased his eyebrows, looking in concern at Cas. "Now, wait just a second," he insisted, "You're really going through with this?"

Cas nodded. "Yes," he told him. Dean read over him slowly, hoping to find some trace of emotion. But there was no hint, he was set in stone. What was he up to? Surely he didn't just… care?

"Look, you can't just do this," Dean insisted, "I have to have some clue to what's going on. You're going into Hell for me and I still don't know why! You have to give me some sort of explanation!"  
The angel turned his eyes away and shook his head. "I don't want you to die. Does it have to be more complicated than that?"

"Yes," Dean answered. He stood, his chair scooching out from behind him. "You're going into Hell, Cas, Hell, and for what? You're trying to tell me you care about me, but why? I never did anything for you."

"Yes, you did," Cas replied defensively.

"I wrote to you!" Dean cried back. "Nothing to merit this! You have to tell me!"  
"I don't know!" Cas suddenly interrupted. He sighed, "I don't… know, okay? I don't understand but there's something about you that…" he trailed off, his eyes locking with Dean's and then looking the rest of him over. Dean shivered. It was like he could see straight into his soul.

"That what?" Dean asked.

"That I would do anything for," Cas said softly. A gentle wariness passed over his eyes and Dean knew he was telling the truth. It didn't mean he understood, but this angel… he really just cared about him. But slowly, Dean shook his head. He could explain it. This was like a movie; irrational, unrealistic. It was probably more normal than it looked… what with how weird it looked, it had to be, right?

"No, you can't," Dean insisted, "I don't know what happened specifically but this isn't… love, or caring, that wouldn't make any sense," he looked Cas in the eyes and spoke quietly, almost comfortingly. "It's sentiment. I was there… you needed someone to talk to, I mean, we've all been there but don't call it more than it is. I was glad I could be of service but… I don't think you care about me as much as you think you do."

Cas looked down, considering this. Maybe he was right. I mean, it was a decent idea. He was the first human to take an interest in talking him since… ever. Maybe he was just filling some kind of void. Still, it didn't feel like sentiment.

"You fail to notice Dean," Cas said, the gears grinding in his head as he pulled his eyes back up to Dean's, "You yourself would benefit a great amount from me retrieving your soul. What does it matter to you whether it's caring or sentiment, the clever thing to do would be to use me."

Dean let his jaw wag for a moment and he stuck his hands in his pockets. Nothing could be said about that, and going over his own words, he surprised himself. He _could_ use him. Why didn't he?

"Well it's not… the right thing to do," he tacked on, somewhat pathetically. This brought a smile to Cas' face.

"That's very good of you Dean," Cas told him honestly, "But... " his smile vanished, "I need to get your soul. For me. I just… maybe it is sentiment, but I'm not going to let you die." He spoke fast and cast a glance downward, almost looking guilty. Dean stood up straight and looked him in the eyes.

"Thank you," he said solidly. Cas' eyes flicked up to Dean's and a small gasp was pulled in from his lips. His chest swelled and his eyes went wide like no one had ever thanked him before. Like no one had ever shown him any kindness at all. He opened his mouth to speak but he hardly seemed to know what to say.

"I…" he managed out, but that was all that came. A thousand words shoved themselves through the doorway in his mind to follow it, but none of them made it to his lips. He could hardly believe some of the things it occurred to him to say, I… _don't understand, don't mind…_

 _Love you._

But without another word, he vanished into thin air.

Dean stared at the space before him for another few moments. _Outrageous,_ he thought. _I don't care. I don't care._

He muttered it once to himself, but even when he spoke it, it sounded ingenuine. Before he could question himself further, he sat back down and returned to his research.

He didn't know how long passed, but it felt like days with nothing changing. He wasn't paying attention to what he was reading, and practically begging for a distraction. What he didn't expect however, was for Sam to come in and lean against the wall beside him. Dean glanced up and then quickly turned back to his book as he walked in, pretending he didn't notice anything. Sam shyly bit his lip and kept his eyes turned to the ground.

"Cas is gone?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean responded.

"You know how long?"  
"No. Is it important?"

"No."

They paused in silence. Dean stared at the word 'the' in his book, not even reading anymore.

"So… you're gonna be alright?" Sam asked slowly.

Dean swallowed and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Sam paused, looking up at the ceiling. "Why'd you do it, Dean?" he asked, "I was ready to die."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't gonna happen and you knew it," Dean snapped in response.

"Why not? Because you couldn't make it without me, because of you!" Sam stood up from the wall and Dean snapped his book shut and put it down, not even faking it anymore.

"I did it to protect you!" Dean told him.

"I didn't-" Sam cut himself off, fury blazing behind his eyes. "I didn't come here to start a fight, I just…" he stopped, contemplating his words. "I just… want to put this behind us."

"Alright!" Dean said, a little more forcefully than he intended. He repeated it more softly to get his intentions across. "Alright…"

"Alright," Sam repeated. He thought if there was anything else to add, but Dean knew everything it would have occurred to him to say, and it was the same the other way around. All they could do now was get over it.

"I guess I'll-" Sam began, starting towards the door. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes locking on the space just beside the table. Dean turned to, giving a shocked look to the same area of space. The position in space that Cas had just recently appeared in, disheveled, panting, and thoroughly bloodied and hurt. One hand was used to support himself, leaning on the table, and the other to cover a bleeding wound across his gut, soaked in blood.

Nobody spoke for a long time. Cas looked between the two brothers. "It is done," he told them finally. Then, he collapsed on the ground.

Cas didn't remember how long ago it was.

He was one of the best angels in the militia, he knew that. It wasn't hard to get there, it wasn't "I say jump, you say how high," it was just to jump. To do anything the higher up said, no questions, in a completely literal and absolute sense. Complete and total faith brought you to the top. Easy.

But recently a conversation had brought him to think something somewhat different. Uriel, Samandriel, and Annabel were gathered around, off duty as of now and discussing the antics of heaven. They didn't really get angry as such, but they seemed displeased. Cas found himself in a tight knit circle of gossip, but he remained silent.

"Have you heard about the angels that fell?" Uriel sneered, "Disgusting, I can hardly believe it would happen even once, much less multiple times!"

"It just disappoints me," Samandriel squeaked, "What on Earth would an angel want to go to Earth with those stinking humans for?"

"I heard they spent time down there, got attached to free will," snapped Annabel.

"Ridiculous! What could you want with that?" replied Uriel.

"No clue," said Samandriel, "Apparently some of the angels took a liking to some of the humans down below, too."

"Repulsive," scoffed Annabel, "I couldn't imagine such a disgrace.

Like I said, Cas didn't speak, but it couldn't help but spark a few questions inside him. What would someone fall for? What did they find on Earth? What was on Earth at all, anymore? He hadn't been on the surface in millions of years, and there were no people, no houses, no opinions, just savage creatures. He never understood what was so great about the Earth, but he was assured that these creatures had a long way to go. Where were they now? What had they become?

So, he figured, he had time off. He'd visit Earth, see what the big deal was, the return to Heaven. Just pop down and find out what it was like.

Everything was different.

Towers reaching up towards the skies dwindled into the distance, machines and people rushed back and forth, the ground was hard and painted gray. People were everywhere, dressed in bright clothes and holding glowing boxes to their faces or ears. It had become a strange world, but an interesting one. He found himself in a city, one of the most major on the planet. It was called New York.

The first day he arrived he found himself strangely drawn in by certain places and sights, people and things. He couldn't quite explain it, but the city kept him on his feet. As soon as he saw one thing, another caught his eye and he was lead there. The city was overwhelmingly intriguing.

Of course, at this point he was invisible and just taking a look. He had to get back, and he did.

It surprised him to find that on more and more of his spare time he was in the city called New York, looking around and seeing the life there. He even found a vessel, a nun named Margaret Clarkson, in her early twenties with blue eyes and curly black hair. He wandered the city, crashing into people and hardly able to see where he was going. There were various cries of "watch it!" and "hey, I'm walking!" but he ignored them. He didn't know what to do in response anyway.

He didn't remember how many times he went out to the same city and still he didn't see all of it. It was amazing. How was it even possible? But like all good things, it wouldn't last.

Castiel went down like he usually did, entering his vessel (who was eager as always, a religious, willing girl who apparently told her family and friends about her situation involving angels) and walking around the city. He intended to go to a new restaurant today. He didn't eat, but the look of it seemed pleasant and interesting. But about halfway there, he felt a coldness rush over him like a tsunami and his breath being stolen away from him. He could feel himself being stretched and pulled like clay until he was looking out over his vessel, sputtering and coughing on the ground, and he rocketed at a thousand miles an hour into the sky.

Only when he landed in heaven did he see who had pulled him. Gabriel.

"What the Hell have you been doing?!" he shouted, dropping Castiel carelessly on the floor. He winced, the pressure from the ground still aching. He didn't stand, just looked away.

"How was your little party with humans, Castiel?! How was it, huh?! Huh?!" he grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to stand. Castiel just sighed and looked away.

"I'm not doing anything wrong, nobody told me I couldn't!"

"Cas, that isn't how it works!" his brother shouted back at him, "Just because nobody tells you you can't doesn't mean you should!"

"But I can," he double checked.

"My God, you really are ignorant! Can you see in color?! You _shouldn't,_ it's _different!"_

"And why… _shouldn't_ I?"

"Cas, what if you wanna fall, get too attached?! You'll be like one of them!"

"And what's wrong with them?"

"Cas, they're mortals! Why have you been down there anyway, you don't have to be!"  
"Because it's different!" Cas insisted, suddenly raising his voice. Gabriel shut his mouth and let him continue. "All these humans, all these places, they're like snowflakes! Hand-crafted by our father! And I don't know what it is inside me, but I want to see all of it!" he continued loudly, his anger turning slowly into passion, "Just, all I've learned and from just one city, it's more than all I've learned in Heaven! Just… the details! Listen, there is a man, he lives on the corner of the street, he calls himself Joseph! He works at a building down the streets, b-but he works a night shift at a club miles away as an entertainer! On top of that, the club is just above the cafe at which he and his current partner meet, her favorite cafe, and every day they go he has to hide it! And this is just one detail about one person in one city in one country! Isn't it amazing!?"

Gabriel gave him a long look, a mix of fear, awe, and anger, and slowly shook his head. "It's like you've already fallen," he finally told him. Then, in an instant, he was gone.

Castiel didn't go back down to Earth. He remained in Heaven. He found himself in one of his favorite places, a summer's day, the Heaven to an autistic man who had drowned in a bathtub. It was beautiful, but he could feel odd emotions, pure and raw, bubbling up inside him. Anger. Betrayal. Sadness.

That was, of course, until a series of words flashed through his head. Well, not words themselves, more like… a notification. His prayer box being activated. Without hesitation and biologically unable to resist, he went to the source.

The box was practically glowing, but he took a moment to look around it. It sat under a squeaky, plain bed in a cracking, plain room. It was lined with knives and weapons, with a young boy in the middle, sleeping on the shabby bed. After looking around, he took the box. Inside, there was a note. He read it over.

 _I found a box today. It's little and made of wood and has letters from a different language on it. I didn't show dad. I don't think he'd care anyway. Stupid jerkface is too busy hunting stupid vampires. And Sammy can't read, so I'm not too worried. The school here is awful. Everybody thinks I'm weird because I can't tell them about my life because that would make me even more weird. I hate them too._

 _PS. this doesn't count as a diary cause diaries are for girls._

He couldn't help but feel a smile to his face. And something else, too. Like… a sort of warmth in his chest. After reading it over, he glanced up at the sleeping boy. His soul was damaged, but innocent. And his physical form… the same. He had spiky hair, slept in his clothes (jeans and a flannel) and a soft face. He somehow looked angry and intense in his sleep, but there was something else about him. His innocence, his youth… what was it.

He was cute.

Cas smiled. Yes, the boy was little and cute and his note was kind and genuine. That was his opinion, no one else's. He could like this boy. He should. He would. He could be part of humanity and be like the humans were. He could be part of this thousand thread tapestry. He would. He should.

He answered the letter. He smiled at the boy for another moment, letting that strange warm substance flood into his chest again. This could work, he thought. I could be like they are. And no one can stop me from being with him.

He's cute. I will protect him.


End file.
